Healing
by majiklmoon
Summary: After a terrible battle, Liz is left to try and survive. Will she ever be healed?


**Title: Healing**  
 **Rating: Teen**  
 **Disclaimer:** _I don't own Roswell – I'm just borrowing several of it's characters for a short time._

She sat alone, huddled into a corner of the large room. Her greasy matted hair fell in her face, obscuring her view of both the room, and the people in it. Streaks of grime marred her arms, and her clothes were tattered and worn. The staff had tried first to get her to clean herself and then later to clean her themselves, but each time she tried, she be came exceptionally violent. They didn't know what to make of her, and she scared them. She scared all of them, the doctors, the nurses and the patients alike, and so, they left her alone.

Everybody left here alone. Everybody left her, she was alone. She shifted positions imperceptibly, trying to stop the thoughts that were racing through her mind. She was alone. She knew it; she just didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about anything. She didn't want to accept it. They all left her. First it was Alex. "No, don't think about it," her lips formed the silent words. She wrapped her arms around her legs and whimpered softly as she began to rock back and forth, banging her head against the wall in an effort to drive out the memories that haunted her.

She was an enigma to the staff of the private medical facility. They didn't know what to make of her, but they were paid well to make sure she was safe and to otherwise, leave her alone. As long as she didn't hurt herself, or others, they did just that. In the mornings, they opened her door. A nurse would cheerfully ask her if she wanted breakfast. They never expected an answer, and they never received one. Occasionally, a staff member would try and talk with her, but she ignored them like she ignored everything, locked away in the tortured recesses of her mind.

She sat huddled in the corner alone, trying to keep the memories at bay, trying to shut out the site of the carnage, but the memories always won and she sunk deeper into the pits of madness. A slight commotion at the door captured the attention of almost everybody in the room. A man, his face disfigured by burns stood in the doorway arguing quietly with a nurse. After several minutes, the nurse at the door reluctantly led the man across the room to the woman huddled in the corner.

"It won't do you any good," she said, walking away. "She's completely unresponsive."

He waited until the nurse was out of earshot before he knelt down beside her.

"Liz, can you hear me?" he asked. "I found Cal Langley. I'm sorry Liz; he doesn't think there's anything he can do. I'm so sorry, Liz. I tried."

A single tear slid down his cheek as he looked at her. It killed him to see her like this. She was always so alive, so vibrant, and now she was reduced to a mere shell.

"Liz, please, can you tell me what happened?" he begged. It drove him crazy, the not knowing. When she didn't answer, he let his mind drift back to the day when life as he knew it ended forever.

It had been a beautiful day in March; the kind of day that hinted of the spring yet to come. They'd been camping in an old abandon barn. They'd been running for weeks, but it seemed as if they'd been running forever. They were foolish to think that their biggest fear had been the FBI Special Unit. The Special Unit was nothing compared to their real enemy – Kivar. He had sent down squads of soldiers to destroy them. There was no negotiating; no chance to surrender, all they did was fight and run, run and fight. No matter how hard they fought, how many soldiers they killed, there were always more to take their place.

After several weeks of fighting, there was a brief lull, and they began to think that maybe they were safe. Maybe Kivar realized they didn't want to return to Antar, and that he'd given up. It was then that they did the unthinkable, they let their guard down. Against his better judgment, they' spent two days resting in a deserted barn somewhere in Colorado. Max, along with Liz healed the injuries they'd received during the last batch of fighting. Liz's healing powers were erratic, but she'd been working hard to control them.

On the second morning at the barn, he woke up early and decided to run into the nearby town and bring back a hot breakfast for everybody. They'd been existing on freeze dried food and canned foods for quite a while. He figured that hot fresh food, even from McDonalds would be a welcome change for everybody. He slipped through a hole in the side of the barn, climbed into the van Jesse had given them when they left Roswell, and headed into town. Less than 20 minutes later, he had the food and was heading back to the barn. As he rounded a bend and approached the barn, a sense of foreboding filled him. A cloud of thick black smoke filled the air and flames shot skyward through the barn roof. He slammed on the brakes of the van and jumped out before it even finished moving and began to run toward the barn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three "people" running from the scene, but he ignored them as he searched for a way inside.

Over the sounds of burning timbers, he heard screams and he ran blindly in the direction of the sound. In the middle of the barn, he found Liz kneeling over Max, trying in vain to heal the gaping blast wound in his chest. He reached out to her and tried to pull her away.

"Liz, come on," he yelled. "We have to get out of here."

"Dead! Dead! He's dead! They're all dead!" she cried. "They're all dead!"

He stopped as if struck as the meaning of her words penetrated his consciousness. He looked around, oblivious to the chunks of burning wood that were falling on and against him. Through the flames and the smoke, he saw the bodies of the four people he loved more than life itself. He could tell by looking at them that they were beyond help, that Liz was right, they were all dead. He choked back a sob and grabbed Liz by the arm. Ignoring the pain that shot up through his body, he forced her out of the barn to safety. Ignoring the burns that covered his arms and face, he carried her to the can and drove west.  
He drove for days, pushing his badly burned body to its limits. He had too, he had no other option. He needed to get Liz to safety, he had to protect her. He owed that much to Max. He'd failed to protect the others, but he'd save Liz, or die trying.

It was just before sunrise when they arrived at their destination. Summoning the last reserves of his strength, he dragged Liz from the van and up the walk. He pounded on the front door and then slumped against it, sliding down to the ground; Liz still cradled in his arms.  
"This better be good," came the muffled voice from behind the door. It swung open and the voice continued, much clearer, "What the hell – oh my God, Michael? No, No, God _NO_. Oh God, what happened? Where's Kyle? Where are the others?"

"Dead," Michael managed to gasp. "Help us. Help her."

He forced himself back to the present. Sheriff Valenti had dragged them both inside and cared for them as best he could. He couldn't call a doctor, and skin grafts and plastic surgery weren't a possibility. Michael recovered emotionally, but physically, he had a lot of scars. Liz on the other hand was spared the physical damage; all her scars were on the inside. There wasn't any point in reliving the past. He didn't know what had happened back in the barn, and he never would, unless Liz found her way back to reality.

"God, Liz," he whispered, holding her hand in his. "I want to help you, I wish I could, but I can't heal. I never could. Only that one time when I healed River Dog's ankle." He gave a have laugh, half sob as more tears slid down his cheeks. "God, the one time I healed somebody, and I wasted it on a damned sprained ankle. I wish I could heal you, Liz."

He sat next to her silently, his forehead resting on his bent knees as he struggled to regain control of his emotions. The last thing he needed was to lose control, his powers still flared out of control when he was upset. He took a deep breath and held it and tried to tamp down the fear and anger that welled up inside of him. He felt something brush against his arm. Thinking it was a bug; he reached out to brush it away and stopped when he came in contact with another hand. Slowly, he raised his head and opened his eyes to see Liz's hand resting on his arm. He felt a tingling warmth and he saw a silvery light encompass his arm. Amazed he watched as the burned and puckered skin smoothed out.

"Liz?" he whispered.

"Shhh," she said. "Shhh. It's helping." Her hand moved up to his neck, and then his face, healing the scars that covered both areas. He looked into her eyes as she healed him, and watched in amazement as they slowly became alive again.

"Where else are you hurt?" she asked softly.

Wordlessly, he shifted positions to allow her access to his other badly scarred arm. Again he felt the warmth of her healing powers fill his body as the skin smoothly knit itself back together. As before, he watched her eyes and saw them become a little bit more alive. She looked around as if noticing her surroundings for the first time.

"Where am I?" she whispered.

"Liz, God, I," Michael began.

"Michael, where am I?" she asked again, her voice rough from lack of use.

"A private hospital outside of Los Angeles," Michael said. "After – after everything, Sheriff Valenti helped me get you here and track down Cal Langley. We needed some place to keep you safe."

"Michael, I think I need to heal more people," Liz whispered.

"Are you crazy, Liz? We need to get you out of here," Michael said.

"I have to do this, Michael. I don't have a choice. I _NEED_ to do this," she said.

Sighing in resignation, Michael climbed to his feed and held out a hand to help her up. He led her from the sunny room, ignoring the nurse who stood by the door. With little effort, they located the children's wing, and Liz went into room after room, healing every child she could find. Michael watched in amazement as her mind seemed to become clearer with every person that she healed. And unlike Max, each time she healed someone, she became stronger.

"I'm ready now," she said, her voice strong, her eyes clear and dancing with life.

"Ready for what?" Michael asked.

"I'm ready to go home," she said. "Take me home, Michael. Take me back to Roswell. Just for a little while."

"I'll take you wherever you want, Liz, Michael said. "But please, what the hell just happened here?"

"I don't know," Liz said. "For so long, it hurt so badly. I couldn't think; I couldn't do anything. It was like nothing could reach me. I tried to talk to people, I really did, but it was like I was locked up inside of me, and then you came, and seeing you, hearing you – well, it touched me, and I knew that to help me, I had to help you. Helping you – healing you made me feel alive, and suddenly, I knew that the more people I healed, the more I'd _be_ healed. Does that make any sense?"

"I don't care if it makes any sense or not," Michael said, hugging her. "I'm just glad you're back. I felt so alone."

"You're not alone any more," said Liz, "And neither am I. We're going to be okay, Michael. We both are going to be fine."


End file.
